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Brian Cray - Hitchhikin', Trainhoppin', and Wanderin'

Wanderin' the world, at will, by any means

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Kicked in the Face by a Moose


Stuck Hitchhiking Van Horn, Texas

When I first stepped out of the police vehicle my wrists pained from the cuffs jamming into my bones. A red groove appeared under each cuff as the officer twisted the key, removing them as he pointed down the road.

“County line is here kid…this is as far as we can take ya…got a good walk ahead of ya to Van Horn, but shouldn’t be too bad.”

He paused and hocked up a wad, tobacco residue dribbled down his stubbly chin staining it brown. Ptui! His spit ricocheted off the ground just missing my leg as I held back scorn and disgust.

“Four miles down there there’s a gas station kid.”

He pointed, wiping the pool of saliva off his chin with his shirt cuff and proceeded to crack out his tin of dip, packing another horseshoe in his lip. I hoisted myself up in the back of the pickup and grabbed my pack, shucking it over the tailgate.

“Thanks for the lift sir,” I whispered as I nodded my head in an unenthusiastic manner.

 

Once cooled, I drifted outside to check out the lot, hoping to fly a sign for a ride out to Pecos. An old crusty hobo came into view crouched in the corner with his pack and dog. His back lay against the brick wall hiding in the only small shadow as the sun slowly stole more shade. His Veteran’s cap held back his greasy gray hair, as he poked the frame of his glasses to keep them from sliding down his face. Then the man broke out a smile of rotten, smashed in front teeth. Where I saw not a grueling yellow, but pitted black amongst the roots. He hunched over, reaching out with his proletarian hand, the crevices smeared with black grease and dirt crammed under his nails. He looked like an older version of me as I shook his hand.

“Name’s Douglass Brown, but ya can call me Doug…this hur is mah dog…her name’s Pam…she was kicked in the face by a Moose. We’re from North Pole, Alaska…lived there mah whole life.”

The morbid desert heat tackled my brain, delaying my thoughts, ever so slightly as I looked over at his dog, registering just how ridiculous she looked. Her fur gleaned a goldish-brown with slobber dripping out of her mouth as if she swallowed a tennis shoe with the laces dangling side-to-side. As my eyes scanned upwards they latched onto her black safety glasses held onto her head by an elastic band guided behind her ears.

I held back laughter at the sight of her shades.

“What’s with her glasses, Doug,” I snickered?

“I told YOU…she was kicked in the face by ah MOOSE…happened when she was just three years old…ever since…she’s been extra sensitive to light. You like them glasses? I made em myself.”

“Haha yeah I guess…they look interesting.”

I squinted; holding back sarcasm and giggles at his ludicrous story.

 

“Got this hur handy book o truck stops…from my understandin’ looks to be 19 miles north of hur. If it’s still there…this hur book is old…done me well though.”
“Aight, well I’m too tired to truck it up there in this heat…maybe tomorrow if we don’t get outta here. So what brings you to Van Horn, TX anyway?”

“We got stuck here comin’ from North Pole, Alaska…been hitchin’ our way down and across the country to get to the Carolinas to see my mah…she’s not doin’ too well…haven’t seen her in 10 years. Figured me an Pam would go see her before she’s gone…”

“Oh ok…”

“Yeah I done that an last year Pam and I rode across the country from Massachusetts to Alaska raisin’ awareness for Veterans. I did 12 years in the air force as a helicopter pilot.”

“You served in Nam then?”

“Nah, not old enough to serve in Nam…only 55.”

“Oh, well your cap says Vietnam War Veteran…so I just assumed you served there.”

“Nah, I just do that when I’m flyin’ signs or spangin’ to get money. Been fightin’ with the government for years now tryin’ to get back the money they owe me from my medical discharge…that’s why muh teeth er all fucked up.”

“Shit man…that sucks…so you live in Alaska?”

He pulled out a thick wallet stashed with all kinds of ID’s and business cards and flashed me his Alaskan identification card.

“See there…NORTH POLE, AK…that’s where I’m from…born and raised…my dad built a six bedroom cabin thinkin’ he’d have other kids, but I’m the only one…I was also on Deadliest Catch Season 3…”

His extravagant line of stories continued as I listened to some truth mixed with utter bullshit echo from his foul-smelling mouth. The bike tour held true, so maybe he premiered on Deadliest Catch. I had no idea, but his dog gettin’ kicked in the face by a moose? Come on, no fuckin’ way I believed that.

He staggered onto the sidewalk drenched in perspiration holding a tiny backpack with only water, and a change of clothes. He stretched out along the ground, his holey jeans exposing his sun-burnt skin to the brisk whirs of wind. His eyes drooped from lack-of-sleep and persistent walking as sweat dribbled down his face meandering through the gray stubbles of hair sprouting out of his worn exhausted face. He looked rough even compared to Doug.

His heavy breathing dissipated after several minutes and he finally spoke.

“Fuck…I just walked from fuckin’ El Paso, TX to here…without one fuckin’ ride,” roared Todd with a disdain about his voice for Texans.

“Damn dude, why didn’t you try to hitchhike,” I exclaimed?

“I figured someone would just pick me up if they seen me walkin’ down the I-10…ya know? Seems like the decent thing to do, especially considerin’ my shit got jacked in El Paso. Went in to use the john and my ride drove off with all my clothes n’ shit. Paid em 300 dollahs to take me to Corpus Christi bro. 300 fuckin’ dollahs…the last of my money. I been livin’ off ketchup packets and sugar packets for days. Fuckin’ pricks…So how long you’s guys been here?”

“Two days for him, a day for me…doesn’t look like we’re gonna get outta here from this spot especially with three people now tryin’ to hitch all the same direction…I’m hittin’ up the next truck stop tomorrow to spread out a bit.”

 

I rolled and fidgeted in my sleeping bag for hours, aggravated from the noise spewing from Todd’s mouth, the idling of trucks and the loud conversation from the state troopers parked in front of us as we slept on the ground. I felt restless, and stuck. In no way could I withstand another day of Doug’s bullshit stories and compulsive lies, every word that poured out of his mouth made me irritated. I wanted to mute my ears, but instead I rolled up my gear, strapped it to my pack and started my early morning tramp down the I-10 for the next truck stop 19 miles away.

At 2 AM my chance of a ride was slim, but the moonlit sky made the presence of light much more bearable than that of the Texas sun, which stalked me each day, suffocating me of fluids, sanity and causing me to burn in my own skin. So I walked alone in the night. I walked away from Doug, and Pam, away from Todd, stepping further north towards Pecos. How many more days did Van Horn set aside for me until I met up with my train again?

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16 Responses “Kicked in the Face by a Moose”

  1. June 1, 2017 at 10:45 PM

    The prose is very poetic on this one. Nice.

    • June 1, 2017 at 11:31 PM

      Thanks. It was a long three days there. I don’t wanna get stuck there again…they seem to search more thoroughly near the border. I hear the same about riding near Del Rio, Texas as well.

      • June 1, 2017 at 11:50 PM

        My worst Texas experience was the one in El Paso I wrote about, where the troopers yelled at me to get off the road with an electronic megaphone. But that was in ’73. I’m not sure how I got out of there, but I eventually ended up in San Antonio.

        Things are sure different nowadays. I see why you prefer the rails.

        By the way, your blog is not ‘comment friendly’. I need to register as a follower every time I post. Most people may not bother. I set mine so I just need to approve the comments before they post the first time, then they’re can speak freely. Just a suggestion. You’re sharing a powerful message here.

        • June 1, 2017 at 11:54 PM

          I ported over a new domain so I am fixing all the bugs and tweaking it. I appreciate the feedback though as I want it to be more comment friendly. Thanks for the suggestions. Riding the rails and hitchhiking is definitely different than the 70s…I always wondered what it would have been like to wander around back then. I imagine it was more accepted, but getting caught on the railroads probably involved more punishment outside of citations, like getting beat up.

          • June 2, 2017 at 12:48 AM

            In fact, on a train from Oakland I ended up going north into the Cascades in winter. I saw Mt Shasta outside the boxcar door, freezing, I realized I would probably die. When the train stopped in the middle of nowhere I jumped out ran to the caboose and explained how I thought I might freeze to death. The two conductors let me ride with them to the next town.

  2. June 2, 2017 at 12:57 AM

    That sounds amazing. Nowadays I hear of people riding like third power, but normally they sneak on and just kinda roll the die hoping the engineers did not see them get on, or they just don’t care about jail.

    I rode through Mount Shasta this past winter while it was snowing throughout the northwest. It must have been about 10 degrees outside. I rode a piggyback down from Eugene, OR and I remember it being so cold and me barely being able to feel my toes that I did not leave my sleeping bag until Roseville. I never ended up even seeing Mount Shasta, I missed it because I was so bundled up. But, I must say that line through the Cascades in winter time is absolutely beautiful. So many luscious trees and little water falls. I definitely look forward to making it out there in the summer sometime. It’s just always blown up in those yards with people not using their brains and hopping out in front of the bull or making a seen being drunk in public.

  3. June 2, 2017 at 2:21 AM

    I couldn’t chose one emoji reaction it was litteratly all of them at some point

    • June 2, 2017 at 2:25 AM

      Haha. I got a few more stories after this that I’m working on, but seriously what was wrong with Doug lol?

    • June 2, 2017 at 2:51 AM

      Idk. All I know is it was like a magic show and and and a dream answered all the same time

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:00 AM

      What are the odds that four random people end up 19 miles away at a truck stop in the middle of Van Horn, TX. I still need to find Deadliest Catch Season 3…I really wanna see if Doug was on there. I got tired of listening to all his ridiculous bullshit.

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:12 AM

      I know what you mean I saw him and knew right away and already wanted him to shut up lol I bet that hasnt happened agaoin

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:12 AM

      And if it has two people didn’t catch the same ride at the same time again

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:17 AM

      Well normally ppl end up their if they get pulled off the train in Sierra Blanca. But you three ended up there for completely different reasons.

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:19 AM

      I know but I think most people know about thd check point so they don’t ride through their

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:25 AM

      They just stay well hidden.

    • June 2, 2017 at 3:27 AM

      Nice

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